Magic? || Years 5-7

Broken: Captured

There was something so calming about that clearing, now. The grass underfoot and the trees looming overhead. Amisty lounged, counting the branches overhead, listening to her own breathing. She couldn't remember much past Draco snapping the thread, just mindless pain and all the blood roaring in her ears. Then, everything faded, and all she could sense was pine needles and heartbreak.

It was done.

Something ached in her chest like something was missing. A hollowness, bitterness that gnawed more than burned. She rubbed below her collarbones, expecting a bruise and finding nothing. Not a single remnant of the Break, not any indication that anything had been there in the first place. She swallowed the lump in her throat, rolled onto her side, and focused on the soft blades of grass winding between her fingers. Forced her breathing to slow, to steady, before she lost this sparse sanctuary of calm she had left.

"Amisty?"

"Hi, Ron," Amisty said without thinking, still counting the branches. There was a pause. She frowned, the implications catching up to her.

"Sweet Merlin," she said, leaping to her feet. "Ron!"

A whirlwind of tattered green and curly black hair. Thankfully, Ron was ready for her. He caught her around the waist and hugged her tight, chin hooked over the top of her head.

"Oh, thank god you're alright," Amisty said, scanning him up and down. He was wearing an old pair of jeans and what looked like one of Bill's sweaters, dirt smudged on his cheek and caked under his fingernails. A bruise was blossoming on the curve of his jaw, a nick in his eyebrow. Rough around the edges, but whole, like he'd been on the run for months.

"I'm alright?" Ron said, incredulous. "You were the one who let the Death Eaters snatch you up! We were worried sick! I thought you were dead!"

Her brow furrowed. Hermione and Harry knew full well she was still alive, there'd been at least one dream a fortnight, even if most of them were cut short when questions got too close, or concerns too distracting. But they'd been there, and they'd seen her, and surely they'd let Ron know even if he'd been wearing the Horcrux—

Hermione's red-rimmed eyes and trembling voice, declaring, Ron left.

Ron seemed to realize Amisty's train of thought before she did anything rash, and he was exceedingly prepared for the fist flying toward his face.

"Okay," he said, a little strained, slightly amused as he jumped back and caught her wrist. "I probably deserved that."

"You left them!" Amisty growled—actually growled, a low, rumbling sound from deep in her chest, canines flashing. "I can't believe you! How selfish—what kind of insensitive, asinine, heartless wart do you have to be to—"

"I'm looking for them," Ron said, dodging her kick as she went for his ankles, eyes blazing emerald fire. "I swear, Am, I'm looking for them, but Hermione's protective enchantments are hard to get through. It's harder than it looks."

"It—would've—been—easier," Amisty said, punctuating each word with another (failed) attempt at bruising his shins, "if—you—hadn't—left—in—the—first place!"

She gave an almighty groan, panting, and wrenched her wrists free, scowling all the while. Ron had the decency to look ashamed, rubbing the back of his neck as red-tinged his ears and cheeks.

"You're an arsehole, Ron Weasley," Amisty spat, arms crossed tight across her chest. "And Hermione is going to murder you."

"I know," he said, far brighter than any soon-to-be murder victim should be.